The Case of the Vanishing Veil

by Carolyn Keene

  The three friends enjoyed the relaxing ride as they watched the beautiful green garden pass by and dusk slowly fall.

  After a supper of seafood and chowder, they returned to their room and collapsed. Each girl found a comfortable spot and sat with pencil and paper, writing. George made a list of places she wanted to see in Boston. Bess made a shopping list. And Nancy sat on her bed, working on a list of suspects and clues in the stolen veil case.

  “We have two suspects,” Nancy said, as she began to write. “One has a name — Tony Fiske — and a very good motive. He’s Meredith’s old boyfriend. He’s hot-tempered and he wanted to make her mad. The other suspect has red hair. She has a name, too, but we don’t know what it really is.”

  “We do know that it isn’t Mrs. Petry,” George said, looking up from her own paper.

  “And now we add Cecelia Bancroft to the list, because she owns the white limo which was parked right outside the church when the veil was stolen,” Nancy said.

  Nancy looked at the list for a full five minutes without saying a word.

  “I think Tony is our man,” she finally said to George. “But I’ll see what Cecelia Bancroft has to say tomorrow.”

  The next morning Nancy found Tony Fiske’s number in the phone book and called him several times. No one answered.

  So she, Bess, and George dressed quickly and went over to Beacon Hill. It was an area famous for its beautiful old houses with wealthy, old Boston families in residence. There they found Cecelia Bancroft’s house on a historic, tree-lined street.

  Nancy turned the brass crank-handle doorbell, which was in the middle of a solid wooden door. A noisy dog began barking on the other side.

  The woman who opened the door was in her forties, very pretty with soft blond hair. She wore a satin jumpsuit and held a small black poodle tightly in her arms.

  “Cecelia Bancroft?” asked Nancy.

  “Yes,” answered the woman. “If you three girls have come about the ad in the paper, I’m afraid you’re too late.”

  Nancy shook her head no. “No, we’re — “ But before Nancy could say anything more, the dog started barking again.

  “Oh, hush up, Licorice, hush up,” Cecelia said.

  “I’m Nancy Drew,” Nancy said. “We haven’t come about the ad in the paper, but we’d like to ask you a few questions about a robbery.”

  “A robbery!” the woman gasped. “Here? On Chestnut Street?”

  “No,” Nancy replied. “Yesterday, at the Park Road Church.”

  Cecelia looked puzzled, but she showed the girls into a large room. The dog followed, growling at their feet.

  “You chose your license plate to go with your dog’s name, didn’t you?” Nancy asked, keeping an eye on the unfriendly black dog.

  “Well, of course,” Cecelia said. “It would be stupid to do it the other way around — name your dog after your license plate — wouldn’t it? Then you’d end up with a dog named T2485, or something! But how do you know my license plate?”

  “We saw your car parked outside the Park Road Church yesterday,” Nancy said.

  “Oh, I see,” Cecelia said. “You have a miniature poodle too. Wonderful doggies, aren’t they?”

  “No, we don’t own a poodle,” George said.

  “Then what were you doing at Bruno’s French Poodle grooming shop?” asked Cecelia.

  “We weren’t at the poodle grooming shop,” Nancy said. “We were at the Park Road Church — at a wedding.”

  “Oh, of course. That’s right across the street from Bruno’s,” said Cecelia. “You know, I always cry at weddings. Of course, I always cry when Licorice is groomed, too. That’s why I drop him off and leave as fast as I can. Who was married?”

  “My friend, Meredith Brody,” George said.

  “I don’t know her, but I’m sure she was a lovely bride,” Cecelia answered.

  Nancy looked at George. Both girls wondered if Cecelia was putting on this airhead act to confuse them. Nancy decided to get right to the point.

  “She would have been lovelier if she had had her veil to wear,” Nancy said.

  “Did she forget it?” Cecelia asked, playing with her dog’s ears.

  “It was stolen,” Nancy said.

  “A robbery — during a wedding — in a church! How unusual!”

  “So you weren’t at the church after all,” Bess muttered. “I guess that would explain why the

  disappeared”

  car

  “Sorry,” Cecelia apologized, shrugging her shoulders.

  “Well, I wonder if you saw anything or anyone suspicious when you were there?” Nancy said.

  Cecelia shook her head, then giggled. “It’s

  funny — you sound just like a detective.”

  “I know,” Nancy said. “I am.”

  But Cecelia didn’t seem to hear and went right on. “You know the same thing happened to me at my wedding only it was completely different.” She put the little dog in her lap and thought for a moment. “I was so nervous, I went to the wrong church. And there was a wedding going on in there, too. So I strolled down the aisle. Can you believe it? I came this close to marrying a man I didn’t even know.”

  Nancy decided to give up on this line of questioning.

  “Well, thank you for your time anyway,” Nancy said.

  Nancy, Bess, and George stood up to leave, but Cecelia stayed seated.

  “I’ve got to tell you,” she said, “I feel terrible for that poor girl. I know what it’s like to start off a wedding on the wrong foot.”

  “Thanks,” Nancy said. “I’m sure we’ll find the veil.”

  “I’m sure you will. What are you going to do next?” Cecelia asked.

  “We’re going back to the church,” Bess said. “Isn’t there something I can do to help?”

  Nancy tried to think of a polite way to decline Cecelia’s offer, but she took too long.

  “Now see if this doesn’t sound like a good plan,” Cecelia said. “I’ll put on my thinking cap and try to remember anything suspicious. And if I do, I’ll meet you at the church in two hours.

  Cecelia showed them to the front door, talking non-stop every step of the way. “It’ll take me that long to explain to Licorice why I’m going out without him. He’s very protective. My husband goes off and leaves me alone every day — of course, he has a job and Licorice doesn’t.”

  Outside, the three girls were happy to be out in the sunlight — and away from the chattering Cecelia Bancroft.

  “I wonder what her thinking cap looks like,” George said, giggling.

  “She’s very friendly, which is more than I can say for her dog,” Bess said. But then she noticed that Nancy wasn’t listening to her.

  Nancy was giving her full attention to a figure

  lurking behind a lamppost across the street. “That’s Tony Fiske,” Nancy said. “You’re right,” George replied. “What’s he doing here?” Bess said.

  That was exactly what Nancy wanted to know. Was he following them? Not likely. Tony didn’t even know who they were. Was he there by coincidence? Or had he come to see Cecelia?

  Just then, Tony moved sideways a little and looked directly at Cecelia’s front steps. Nancy froze for an instant, waiting to see what he would do. He didn’t seem to recognize her at all. Instead he casually lifted the lid of a heavy metal garbage can near the curb and tossed an empty soda can inside.

  Nancy ran quickly down the steps and started across the street.

  “Tony Fiske?” she called.

  At the sound of his name, Tony stepped into the street. He waited a second — until Nancy drew closer — and then he reached behind him. With one swift motion Tony Fiske sent the trash can rolling dangerously in Nancy’s path!

  4

  The Clue in the Church

  As a surprised Nancy tried to dodge the trash can, Tony Fiske took off, running like a rocket down the cobblestone street. She managed to sidestep the rolling can, but she tripped over the lid and fell, skinning
her hands on the pavement.

  By the time Bess and George reached her, Tony was at the corner of Chestnut Street, crossing the street diagonally. He’s getting away, Nancy thought as she dashed into the street, ignoring the oncoming traffic. A car horn blared at her as its tires squealed to a stop. She gave the driver a quick backward look of apology as she ran on. But a bus had pulled up near the curb, blocking the sidewalk. When Nancy finally wove her way through the jumble of vehicles, Tony was gone.

  “He got away,” Nancy said. She was completely out of breath when Bess and George caught up with her.

  “I wonder what he was doing here? I mean, outside Cecelia’s house?” Bess asked.

  “Maybe following us …“ George suggested.

  “I don’t think he was following us,” Nancy said. “But if he was, we’ll see him again.”

  “And next time,” George said, running her hand through her short hair, “we’ll be faster.”

  On the way to the Park Road Church, the girls bought postcards and then stopped for a cold soda. As they drank their soft drinks, they wrote out their postcards to Nancy’s boyfriend, Ned Nickerson, who was a student at Emerson College.

  “Having a wonderful time. Wish you were here,” wrote Nancy.

  Bess wrote, “Nancy’s name has been linked with a Tony Fiske. Aren’t you dying?”

  George’s note was the shortest of all: “Don’t believe Bess!”

  Exactly at noon, they arrived at the Park Road Church, half expecting to see Cecelia’s white stretch limo parked outside. The parking spaces were empty, however.

  Yesterday, the church had been cheerful and festive for Meredith’s wedding. But today it seemed as though the newlyweds had taken all the happiness with them when they left. Now the old stone church looked dark and gloomy. The stained-glass windows had been shuttered over from the inside, and so only narrow streaks of sunlight, like dusty stripes, fell across the wooden pews.

  Slowly the three friends entered the church and walked from the door into the chapel.

  “Looking for someone?” a voice asked in the dark. Footsteps approached. Then a familiar face came out of the shadows. It was Reverend Petry, the minister. He was a quiet but cheerful man in his fifties with silver hair and glasses. “I’m not really trying to create the atmosphere of Dracula’s castle,” he said, turning on a tall lamp that stood on the aisle. “I’m just trying to cut down on the electricity bill.”

  “Reverend Petry, we were here yesterday,” George said, “for Meredith and Mark’s wedding.”

  That made the minister smile. “I was afraid for a while that it wasn’t going to happen,” he said, grinning. “Too bad I don’t get paid for overtime. Well, have you come back because you left something behind?”

  “No, we came back to look for the bride’s veil,” Bess said.

  “But I understood that my wife stole that,” the minister teased.

  “We’re trying to find out who really did steal it,” Nancy said.

  Just then the front door opened with a bang. “Anybody home?” called out a woman’s voice from the doorway.

  Nancy turned. “Uh-oh, bad news,” she murmured to her friends as she recognized the soft blond hair. “Cecelia Bancroft decided to show up after all.”

  “Hello, ladies,” she said with a wave. She came forward into the aisle and held her hand out to Reverend Petry. “Hello. Cecelia Bancroft.”

  “Roger Petry,” the minister said, shaking her hand.

  “It’s a tad gloomy around here, don’t you think?” asked Cecelia.

  Reverend Petry cleared his throat. “Well, the Sunday morning services are over,” he said.

  “Reverend Petry, would it be all right if we looked around the second floor of the church?” Nancy asked.

  “Sure,” said the minister. “Though I doubt you’ll find the veil.”

  Nancy didn’t hold out much hope for it either. In fact, she wasn’t sure what she was looking for. At the very least, she hoped she might find out how the red-haired woman had disappeared so fast — and how someone had gotten in and out of the dressing room without being noticed. At most, she hoped for a clue to the thieves’ identities.

  Cecelia and the three girls went up the dark staircase to the second floor, and had been searching in the long, narrow hallway for only a minute when Cecelia cried out, “Look at this!” She was holding something in her hand.

  “What is it?” asked Bess, who was shining a penlight on a nearby section of the hallway.

  “A penny,” Cecelia said. “Things are looking up.” She handed it to Bess. “You can put it in the collection box.”

  Nancy sighed and walked back down the dark hallway from the dressing room to the broom closet. This time she opened all the other doors along the way. Closet. Orifice. Storage room. Main stairway — no, door. Office. Fuse box with circuits. Another stairway. And finally the broom closet Meredith had been led to.

  Nancy stepped back to the door before the broom closet.

  “This is how the woman with the red hair disappeared so fast,” Nancy announced. “She must have known about this other stairway. She ran down the steps while Meredith’s back was turned.”

  “But who took the veil? And how did that person get away?” Bess asked.

  “I don’t know,” Nancy said.

  “I’ll check out this other stairway,” George volunteered. Cecelia went with her.

  Nancy stayed in the main hallway because the beam of her flashlight had caught something in its light. She walked over to the storage closet door and stooped to pick up her discovery.

  “Find something?” asked a voice behind her. Nancy jumped.

  “Bess,” Nancy said, “make more noise, will you?”

  “Sorry about that, Nancy,” Bess said. “What is that?”

  Nancy stood up and opened her palm. In it was a flower, fading and dry. “It’s probably from Meredith’s bouquet.”

  “Is that a clue?” Bess asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Nancy. “I doubt it.”

  “Hey!” George shouted.

  Nancy and Bess could hear her footsteps as she came running up the back stairway and into the hall. Cecelia followed.

  “Nancy, Cecelia found something on the stairs,” George said.

  Cecelia held a thin, rectangular slip of paper. The three girls crowded around to read it in Nancy’s flashlight.

  “It’s part of an airline ticket,” Bess said.

  Nancy was too busy reading the handwritten information on the ticket to say anything.

  “The passenger’s name is Markella Smith,” Nancy said finally. “She flew from Denver to Boston yesterday.”

  “Look at that!” George said. “She arrived just three hours before Meredith’s wedding.”

  “And she’s scheduled to fly back to Denver tonight!” Nancy said. Her mind was racing. The ticket had been issued yesterday. That meant it had to be dropped there either yesterday or today.

  “Let’s say that Markella Smith has red hair,” Nancy mused aloud. “Yesterday, she flies from Denver to Boston. She comes to this church. We know she couldn’t have done this alone. So, she and her accomplice sneak up this back stairway together, and wait.”

  “She tricks Meredith into leaving the room,” George added.

  “Right,” Nancy agreed. “And her accomplice is already hiding in that office — down the hall.” Nancy pointed to the office near the dressing room. “When Meredith leaves, the accomplice sneaks into the dressing room and takes the veil. Then he or she sneaks back into the office and waits till the coast is clear to sneak out of the church.”

  “Meanwhile, Markella Smith has already gone down the back stairway,” George added.

  “But she lost a page of her ticket while she was waiting there,” Bess chimed in.

  “Whew!” Cecelia Bancroft whistled. “You girls are serious!”

  “But why — that’s the question, isn’t it, Nancy? Why would Markella Smith want to steal Meredith’s wedding veil?�
� Bess asked.

  “It’s the question, all right. And it’s a question only she can answer,” Nancy said, putting the ticket in her jeans pocket.

  “What are you going to do?” Cecelia asked. “Fly to Denver?”

  “If I have to,” Nancy said. “But first I’ll try calling her.”

  “But that won’t help,” Cecelia interjected. “Markella Smith isn’t home yet. She’s flying back to Denver tonight, remember? Maybe you should go to the airport and catch her there.”

  “Good idea,” Nancy admitted. “Thanks for your help, Cecelia.”

  “Anytime. Too bad I can’t come along,” Cecelia said. “My husband and I are giving a dinner party tonight so I have to hurry home. But remember to let me know how things turn out.”

  Cecelia left the Park Road Church first, and after thanking Reverend Petry, Nancy, Bess, and George followed.

  “Well, we don’t have to be at the airport until this evening,” Bess said when they were alone on the sidewalk. “Let’s take a bus to Filene’s Basement — and spend some cash!”

  Nancy had never been to Filene’s department store, but she had heard about it for weeks from Bess. As they walked through the revolving doors, Nancy saw that everything Bess had said was true. Filene’s was a normal department store from the ground floor up. But in the basement there Were racks and racks of famous designer clothing being sold at a fraction of the original price. The entire basement display area was packed from wall to wall with eager, shoving, no-nonsense bargain hunters.

  “I think I’ll wait until after the fight is over,” George said, standing back by the elevator.

  “They aren’t fighting,” Bess said. “They’re shopping! Let’s go!”

  Bess took a deep breath and disappeared into the crowd.

  With a laugh, George asked Nancy, “Think we’ll ever see her again?”

  A few hours after the shopping spree, they dropped their packages off at the hotel and then went to pick up the rental car Nancy had arranged for shortly after leaving the church earlier that afternoon. Soon the three friends were headed for Boston’s Logan Airport. After parking their car, they checked the monitors for the number of the flight from Boston to Denver, and found that it was scheduled to depart from Gate 10. Then they settled into chairs just outside the security checkpoint to wait for Markella Smith.